


Takes Three to Tango

by Avanalae



Series: Dancing with Death [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Dancing, Dancing Threesome, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-06-06 16:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15198461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avanalae/pseuds/Avanalae
Summary: Harry loves to dance, but it's hard dancing in a crowd because of the magic involved. But a certain someone won't let him sit idle, and another will join in and won't let him go without a fight.





	1. The Dance

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to "Tango de Roxanne" from Moulin Rouge and was hit with inspiration to write this. I really don't think I could do the dancing itself justice for what I imagined it, but I tried and I'll work on it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!

The bar is loud and boisterous. People of all different distinctions putting aside differences and finding themselves in the arms of others to dance in a maelstrom of passion. Bodies twist and turn and brush against others, making it seem as if all the people on the dance floor are dancing with each other.

It’s a heady feeling.

Harry takes a deep inhale without his eyes drifting from the crowd. The rim of the glass in his hand touches his bottom lip, but he doesn’t take a sip yet.

The smell of alcohol, sweat, and _heat_ fills his nose and he lets out a shaky exhale.

It’s almost intoxicating.

How he wishes to be out there, out there dancing. _Oh_ , how he _wishes_.

But something…

Something keeps him from stepping out onto the floor.

He doesn’t want to risk…

He doesn’t want…

The rim of the glass goes between his teeth and he bites. The smell of the alcohol – firewhiskey – burns his sinuses and Harry takes a sip, his eyes continuing to wander over the dancers.

Minutes pass and his drink is gone. He presses the empty glass against his parted lips, his breath fogging the cool glass.

He’s about to join the crowd, but then –

A hand on his.

His eyes jolt up as the hand takes his own and lifts it to the stranger’s lips. They don’t touch, but Harry can feel the cool breath against his skin.

Cool?

That oddness doesn’t escape him but he doesn’t know what to do with it as he stares at this stranger who is grinning boldly at him.

Blonde – almost white – hair falls around his face in soft curls, cut tastefully short but just long enough to curl around his bright blue eyes.

Blue eyes locked onto him.

“Wha-“ Harry finally manages to start, but is quickly interrupted.

“You look very much like you want to dance, my dear. Why are you not on the floor?” His voice is silky smooth and deep and Harry surpresses any reaction to it.

“What does it matter to you, stranger?” Harry just manages to pull his hand away and turns half away from him on his barstool to set down his glass. He shakes his head at the bartender who offers a refill.

“Someone as lovely as you shouldn’t be hidden away in corners.” He leans a little closer, not deigning to sit on the stool he stands over.

No. _Towers_.

Gods, the man is tall.

“You should be center-stage,” he continues, almost whispering in that baritone that makes something rumble in Harry’s chest. “Showing all these mortals your place above them.”

Harry’s eyes widen and he snaps his head to the side to look at the man.

That smile – gods, he recognizes that smile!

The smile widens even more and his eyes glint, “You probably shouldn’t react to anyone else saying such things like that…” he draws closer to Harry’s face, “Master.”

“Dea-!”

A hand gently grips his chin and closes his mouth, a thumb resting on the lips that seem to draw his attention.

“Now, now, my dearest, I’m just _Mortis_ for tonight.”

Harry tries to pull away from the grip on his chin, but Death – Mortis – tilts his chin up instead.

“Now then. I believe it’s time.”

Harry only has a chance to blink before he’s being pulled to the dance floor.

“Wha-! Wait! De-“ Harry growls, “Mortis!”

But it’s too late. He’s on the dancefloor. The others don’t seem to notice them yet but he can still feel the eyes that had been on him all night stay fixated. It’s confusing – who would be staring?

He doesn’t have time to think of that though, as the current song winds down and D- Mortis pulls him in close, hooking Harry’s leg over his own and twisting him so that Harry’s torso is almost half-turned away from his own.

Harry’s eyes widen and he whispers, “Mortis…”

The grin is vicious, “Time to shine, my star.”

The next song starts.

It’s a tango.

And Mortis and Harry start moving, Mortis leading him and pulling him deeper and deeper into the song, knowing how Harry cannot resist the allure of dancing.

And it works.

Oh, Harry tries his best to pull away, block out the music, close his eyes – but…

Mortis dips him and when he pulls him back up Harry’s hands are grasping his cheeks, their faces only centimeters away. Harry’s face is flushed and his eyes are glazed with the dance and the swelling magic.

They move as one, arms encircling each other as their legs lead them across the floor. A hand grabs his and he’s being spun, taking steps away from his partner before being pulled back in, back to chest as their arms entwine and he’s falling – rising – turning…

Harry’s only barely aware of his surroundings.

He doesn’t realize that most of the others have stopped dancing.

He doesn’t see them spread around them, leaving them plenty of room to dance.

He doesn’t hear the cheers, the murmurs, the gasps…

He doesn’t notice at all.

But he does notice when his steps are stopped and he runs into another – _different_ – warm body.

He gasps and looks up –

And gasps again.

Tom Riddle.

He isn’t given any time to think before he’s swept up into a dance.

The tango continues.

Harry’s eyes can’t leave Tom’s blue-grey ones, ensnared, and yet they dance. Twisting, pushing, pulling, turning, stepping…

Then he’s pulled away into more familiar arms.

They dance.

They _dance_.

And Harry is enraptured, nearly bursting at the feel of the magic around him – pressing, caressing…

The touch of two men – the brush of hands against his arms, cheeks, hands, chest, neck...

His heart is fit to burst.

So full.

 _Torn_.

He’s lifted, then pulled closer and lips press against his stomach. His hands rest on broad shoulders and help push off when he is tossed in a spin to the other man.

 _He never wants to stop_.

But alas, all good things come to an end.

The two men kneel, Harry coming to rest on their raised knees, with each hand held by another, one face buried in each side of his neck.

The music stops and doesn’t continue.

He blinks.

There’s… cheering?

What…?

Harry blinks again and suddenly he’s pulled against a chest, his back to it. He blinks and looks up and sees Tom – oh gods, _Tom_ – who is clutching his hand and glaring at the one holding him.

“Mor… tis…” Harry gasps, trying to regulate his breathing. Mortis presses his lips against his cheek.

“Shh, darling one, I’m here,” Tom’s eyes narrow even more and Harry can feel the smirk against his skin.

“I- _Please_ -!“ Harry’s still in too deep, he doesn’t know what he’s asking for but he knows he needs something. Something that Mortis can provide.

He chuckles and kisses his cheek and Harry sees Tom rise to his feet but suddenly it’s dark and he’s falling, falling, falling…

_

Harry blinks awake.

And proceeds to panic.

“D-Death!”

And the being is next to him instantaneously, in the form he’s familiar with. Long, straight black hair tied back, sallow skin, blue-tinged lips, and black, black eyes.

He stares into those eyes.

“Death, what…” He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before reopening them. “What was that?”

Death grins, “That, Master, was magic.”

“I-!” Harry growls, “That doesn’t make any sense!”

The being chuckles. “Oh, Master. Don’t be so silly,” he looks Harry up and down, making the younger man fidget, “You know well of dancing magic.”

“Yes, but…” Harry covers his face with his hands. “That’s not…”

“Mm. Not what you’re asking, I suppose?”

“Tom,” Harry whispers. “Why was he there?”

Death chuckles. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You don’t always look where you’re going when you jump, after all.”

“Death…” Harry says warningly.

“Hm,” Death smiles more broadly. “You were in the same universe you normally go to, to see your Riddle. But this time it was 1950.”

“1950…” Harry’s mind was whirling. “That was… when he came back from… from Albania…”

Death hummed uncaringly. “As for your _delicious_ reactions, magically and otherwise,” Harry scowled while blushing at his leer, “You know very well why it reacted with mine, but perhaps you’re wondering a bit more about your Riddle.”

Harry looked away but a cold, long-fingered hand rested on his cheek and pulled him back to face Death. “He’s not mine.”

“Mm,” Death hummed, his lips twitching in an attempt not to smile at that, “but you are certainly compatible. I’m surprised you haven’t realized this from your life as Harry Potter.”

“I…” Harry almost sighed. “Is it… because of the horcrux?”

Death’s gaze rested on the faded scar, “Perhaps.”

Harry felt puzzled, “What…?”

Suddenly Harry was laying down again with Death hovering over him. “It’s time to rest some more, dear one. You look positively exhausted.”

He found that he was, regardless of how much he must have slept already. He rubbed at his eyes, sighing, “Okay…”

Death turned and left the room, Harry falling into peaceful oblivion before the being was out the door. Once out, he turned and quietly shut the door, his hand slipping off the handle once done.

“You will never know, _Harry_.”

He turns, throwing a look over his shoulder.

“You will never know how close Thomas Marvolo Riddle was from taking you from me.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom's side of their encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg u guys, I was so surprised but so happy with how much response this story got. Thank you to all of you. *blows kisses*
> 
> I apologize for this delay. I've been so busy with work that I haven't been doing much but working or sleeping recently. I'm actually home sick today and I wanted to work on something that would make me happy. So here we are! At last, Tom's side of the story. It's shorter than I'd like but I hope it gives sufficient insight into Tom's feelings and such. 
> 
> There will definitely be more of this series in the future. I wanna write me some smut. (o w o ) Heck, feel free to pop over to my tumblr to talk to me about it (avanalae.tumblr.com) or leave me a prompt in a comment or something. I'd love to hear from you guys.

Tom still remembers. He remembers the flash of blades on ice. He remembers a glow of green. He remembers the swell of magic and of his heart on those special winter nights at Hogwarts.

Truly, it had been one of the greatest reasons he had for wanting to stay to teach. He never wanted to lose those quiet moments with an unknown being. But that fool, Dumbledore…

But that is in the past.

Or at least, he thought it was.

He’d been enticed to this magical bar by one of his most loyal, Abraxas. It was both a surprise and not, for it to be him who invited Tom.

Tom had given minimal effort to pay attention to the things his followers were talking about, until he’d seen _green_. Then he put in no effort.

Those green eyes… They brought back memories of those winter nights, bringing them to the forefront of his mind and making them impossibly clear.

He couldn’t help but stare.

His eyes were drawn across the body of the… _man_ who bore those green eyes. He was a lovely specimen; slim but athletic, slimly muscled and graceful, soft angles and curves.

Beautiful.

If only those eyes would turn to him…

But then there’s another. A tall, blonde man and he is _touching_ green-eyes.

Something in him flares. Burns.

Then too soon they are moving towards the dance floor. Without hesitation, he’s standing, ignoring the confusion of his minions.

He strode towards the floor but stopped, just as stunned as everyone else by the beginning of their dance.

The fire inside him burns brighter and he feels himself moving before he realizes it. He steps onto the dance floor and meets the eyes of the other man.

He smirks and Tom glares, before suddenly green-eyes is being spun into him. Glazed green blink at him in surprise as the shorter man gasps and when they touch, something inside of him is soothed. Tom takes the chance and resumes the dance, sparked on by the magic in the air.

Between the two of them, Tom and this mysterious man, there is a war. A battle of wills and wits.

The fire in him burns brighter as he realizes he’s being toyed with, but something in him wonders if there’s something more to this.

He has no interest in the other man, but he can’t help but notice how he looks at the one being shared between them.

And something in him can relate.

It’s yearning to hold a star in your hands, even knowing that it would only burn.

Wanting something you don’t know, that you can’t even name.

Something in him is drawing him to the green-eyed man, and for once he just wants to give in. To ignore all principles and plans and dive into those green depths and burrow into this man’s heart.

But all too soon, it’s over.

The younger man is sitting on their knees and Tom can see him blink out of his trance. When the panic starts to fill his eyes, Tom tightens his grips, but it doesn’t mean a thing. The other man pulls him away, holding him close – Tom swallows down an animalistic growl.

“Mor… tis…” the little one gasps, eyes seeming unable to leave Tom’s. Tom who bares his teeth when the man – Mortis – kisses his cheek.

“Shh, darling one, I’m here.” Tom tightens his hand, trying to hold on to the smaller one in his grasp, fearing the inevitable.

“I- _Please_!” the little one groans and Tom’s on his feet, trying to hold on to him, and about to pounce on the man. With another kiss that makes Tom’s chest burn, they’re gone.

He clenches his hand into a fist, desperate to hold on to that warmth just a bit longer.

The fire within him is an inferno. There is nothing more important to him now than that green-eyed man.

And he’s _gone._

He turns on his heel and goes over to the group of his followers, all of whom are standing relatively close to the dance floor.

“Abraxas.”

Said man gulps and straightens.

“We have someone to find.”

_

That night he dreams.

He dreams of soft, pale skin. Skin that twitches under his touch, shivers with every gentle kiss and nip of teeth.

He dreams of blazing green eyes staring up at him, blown wide with lust.

He dreams of things he’s never dreamed before, all centered around one being.

When he wakes, the inferno burning in his heart flares.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you want another chapter with Tom's POV or reaction or whatever~
> 
> EDIT: Due to demand I will be continuing this with a chapter from Toms perspective! I only ask that you give me some time. Life is a bit hectic right now.


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